


Old Enough to Die

by butyoumight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3105815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butyoumight/pseuds/butyoumight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>But if you're watching up above, they're teaching me to kill, who's teaching me to love?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first MCU fic and I am EXTREMELY nervous about it. 
> 
> Fic based on my own rambling musings on twitter, collected on tumblr [here](http://bonjourentrez.tumblr.com/post/106822768982/some-twitter-ramblings-on-the-topic-of-soulmate).
> 
> Not sure how many chapters this will end up being, or what story I intend to tell in the end, but endgame ship will be Steve/Bucky/Sam poly threesome. 
> 
> Title and Summary lyrics from _Gun._ by My Chemical Romance.

Everyone called them soul marks, and that really meant _everyone_. Even people who disagreed with calling them that had no choice, because that was the only way to refer to them.

The first words spoken to you by the person, or people, you were meant to share your life with, in some way or another.

A community developed around the study of the marks, or maybe the contemplation of the mechanics of the marks had always been a part of the greater existence of humanity. But after specific, special studies carried out, a few things could be agreed upon as definite. 

For one thing, they only ever showed up once the speaker of the words was able to speak them- not at birth. And they often, but not always, faded if the speaker were to pass away. There had also been documented reports of marks changing completely. Of single mates being replaced, or supplemented by multiples later in life, of the inexplicable implied bonds being broken, both before and after pairs had met and made their fateful exchange of words.

Not that Steve ever thought any of that would apply to _him_. 

-

Steve noticed the new mark right away. After being properly briefed by the man who called himself Director Fury, he'd been driven to a nice brownstone. The kind of building in the kind of neighborhood he would have laughed over ever even setting foot in, when he was a kid. But the apartment they'd set up for him was nice, if a little stuffy, and all Steve really cared about was finally getting a chance to be alone.

So he'd done what he figured anyone would do after seventy years asleep. He took a look at his own body, curious as to what, if any, changes the ice had wrought.

With his back to the mirror and his head turned sharply to the side, he could see it. A mark he hadn't had during the war, a mark he'd never known before crashing the Valkyrie. The text was tiny, and kind of blocky, but neat, and organized sort of like a haiku- two words, three words, then two words more in a little stack on his right shoulder blade.

**Uh-huh,  
on my left,  
got it.**

It didn't make any sense to him, but he guessed it could be expected that after almost seven decades maybe, just maybe another soul that he was meant to be with had been born, someone who hadn't been around before. And anyway, his first mark, the one that he'd taken into the ice with him, it hadn't made any sense at first either. It wouldn't make sense until he heard it.

With that thought, he turned around to take a closer look at the words on his chest, a hands breadth above his heart and still following the curve of his collar bone, even after the serum. 

Only something wasn't right.

At the sight of the new mark, Steve had thought, well, it's alright to have a second soul mate, since he lost his first. But this... with _this_ , Steve started to question whether there was anything good or reasonable about these damn marks, after all.

-

Some people had no marks at all- they never appeared, just never developed. Some people were practically covered in the things, swirling up their arms, across their shoulders, down their necks. These non-anomalies were what led some people to argue the veracity of calling the marks 'soul marks' or 'soul mate marks'. Their argument was that _everyone_ had a soul mate, and further than that, that everyone had _only one_ , which Steve had always, even as a child, thought to be pretty foolish when he heard people say it, even if they did seem to think that God wanted it that way. 

Sarah Rogers had two marks. On the back of her left hand, in a beautiful but pale scrolling text, all flourishes and curls, a few words in Irish that she told her son meant _come dance with me_ , and were the first words his father had spoken to her. Her other mark Steve had never seen, because it was on her ribs and so always hidden by dresses, but she'd told him all about it, because sometimes the marks didn't necessarily mean romance. Sometimes the marks were shared by two women, or two men. And Sarah thought it was important that Steve knew that _his_ mark would mean whatever he, and the person who wore its partner, wanted it to mean.

Steve didn't ever remember _not_ having his mark. His mother told him it had developed when he was a little over a year old, she figured that meant his mate was a little older than him. But Steve didn't remember ever looking in a mirror and not seeing the sweeping words on his chest, using his prominent collarbone as an underline.

**Whoa, take it easy.**

For as long as Steve's memory reached, he wondered at the scenario in which his mate would say those words. He had a feeling, though he couldn't explain it if he was asked to elaborate, that it wasn't the kind of thing a lady said to a gentleman. So he wondered about that, about what kind of partner was waiting out there, probably a little older than him. He wondered what words were inked on that person's skin in return, and he wondered which one of them would be the first to speak.

Steve was far from alone- his mother loved him very much, and he had a few friends in the neighborhood. But all he ever really wanted was his soul mate.

-

The first few letters were the same, maybe that was why it hadn't caught Steve's eye right away. But now that he was examining it, even backwards in the mirror, it was so obvious, so clear that he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it immediately upon taking off his shirt.

Steve wasn't sure he wanted to meet the so-called soul mate that would dare say these new words to him _ever_ , never mind these being the first words he was supposed to hear from the person in question.

Bucky had died a hero, every bit as much the hero as Steve. He deserved respect just for being precisely who he was, just for exactly what he'd died for. Being Steve's soul mate didn't come into it, but it still hurt anyway. And more than that, it made Steve _angry_ , in a deep and visceral way. 

This wasn't respectful. It was rude, it was crass.

It was permanently scrawled on Steve's skin, and he'd never be able to escape that maybe, no, almost probably, some day, someone would say those cold words right to his face. What was worse, Steve would then know that whoever that person was, rude or not, some inexplicable part of the universe had deigned that they _belonged_ together.

What a joke.

It was wrong, and it was bad, and Steve would never ever admit it to anyone- but for a moment, as he stared at himself in the mirror, at the _wrong_ words on his chest, rudely displacing Bucky's memory... Steve almost wished that they'd just left him there, in the ice.

He passed a hand over the mark, maybe hoping that it was an illusion. That he was just too tired, too confused. But no, the shape of them _felt_ different as well. The original mark, the one he’d had since childhood, had felt raised, like welts, scratches. This new mark, cruel and unfeeling, was indented like scar… Like a wound. 

Steve pressed his fingertips into his skin, hard, bracketing the last word. The name that he missed more than anything. 

**Who the hell is Bucky?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And on the other side of the universe is James Barnes.

The first thing he felt, every time they dragged him out of the ice, was the burning pain. 

It wasn’t that it bothered him. He didn’t have a referent for reporting such an inconsequential pain. And it _was_ inconsequential, practically lost in the overall static, the generalized pain of the thawing process. 

He simply recognized it and filed it away. That it occurred, every time. It wasn’t the sort of memory or event that he needed to report, because his handlers were the one causing it. And it wasn’t the type of thing that had to be removed whenever the sent him to the chair. So eventually, it became a _part_ of the thawing process, an indication to him that all was going according to plan. 

Before he regained gross motor control, but after he had reached near-complete consciousness. The sharp burn of a brand beneath his right ear, and the too sweet, but somehow comfortingly familiar scent of his own seared flesh. The first non-thaw sensations of each cycle. 

The asset did not know what it was that his handlers needed to remove from his skin every time he came out of the tank. But then again, the asset didn’t care. 

All he was, was the mission. 

-

It was some time after Bucky’s sixth birthday when his _first_ mark began to come in. Beneath his right ear, tracing all the way down his neck. It was kind of a scrawl, a bit messy and slanted, but he liked it. That made it even more unique than just the words themselves. He had a feeling, somehow, even as the years went on and he kept waiting to _hear_ the words, he had a feeling he’d know just what they’d sound like.

He wanted to know what he’d say to get that kind of brusque response. He wondered if the person would realize it right away, if they were rehearsing a response every day the way Bucky was. 

They didn’t talk about marks much in the Barnes household. Bucky had a suspicion this was because his father didn’t even have one- didn’t even have a soul mate. And his mother’s was dull and faded on her forearm- whoever was supposed to speak those words to her had died before she’d had a chance to hear them. 

So what if his parents weren’t soul mates? That didn’t bother Bucky. It didn't mean they didn't love each other, after all, and not all soul mates were meant to get married anyway. 

Maybe it was a bit selfish, but all Bucky cared about was that he had his own soul mate waiting for him, somewhere. Hopefully somewhere close, and he believed he’d get to meet them sooner, rather than later. 

**I’m fine, lay off, I’ll be alright.**

-

Steve noticed the second mark before Bucky did. They’d known each other for over a year now, and they’d gotten close very quickly- they were soul mates, after all. They didn't really have anything to hide from each other. 

Bucky maybe should have been concerned that Steve was looking at him close enough to notice the arrival of the mark, considering it's placement on the inside of his left thigh. But at eleven and twelve years old, respectively, that wasn’t the kind of concern either of them had. Bucky especially knew that Steve already had a mind for art. Anything he noticed about Bucky’s body was just that artist’s eye. 

Once he'd had it drawn to his attention, Bucky could see the words, but it wasn’t at a great angle for Bucky to read himself, so he had Steve read the words out loud to him. 

**So you’re the sniper.**

“What do you think that’s supposed to mean?” Steve asked as he traced one thin finger along the words. 

“I dunno.” Bucky admitted with one shrugged shoulder. He looked down, craning his neck to watch Steve contemplating the new mark for a moment, then shifted, nudging Steve in the ribs with his right foot. “You think maybe I’m gonna join the Army?”

Steve shot a grin up at him even as he scooted back, letting Bucky stand up to finish dressing himself. There was a little blush on the tops of Steve's cheeks. Not a fever flush- Bucky had seen that a few times already and he hated it. But this color was kind of cute, made Steve look more healthy, instead of less. “My dad was in the Army.” 

-

The thawing procedure for the soldier was very well documented. The same procedure had been followed for decades, and far be it from any new doctors or developers brought into the inner circle of the activation and maintenance of the asset to deviate. 

Of course, every new person assigned to lead the thaw team hoped to be the one that could report that the neck mark was gone. 

After all, it had been Alexander Pierce who, twenty years before, had been overseeing the thaw and turned in the report that the thigh mark had faded to the point where it no longer needed to be burned away upon every thaw. And look at him now, clear at the top of the ladder. 

The Soldier was weak as the first part of the thaw took hold. His eyes would open, but that was it, and it was almost entirely reflexive, anyway. He couldn’t move his arms or legs until nearly an hour into the procedure, even though all other vital and neural signs were solid and strong. 

So it was perfectly easy to shove aside his damp, in some places still frozen hair, and check the stark mark on the side of his neck. And if it was there (it was always there, though lately it had been much darker, more defined) out came the brand to burn it away. He couldn’t fight back, and no one seemed to care if the pain bothered him.

Almost every scientist or handler that had burned it away thought the same thing. It was simple, as soul mate marks went. Just a single word- a name. 

But it was trouble. The asset was a human weapon, carefully designed and purposefully developed. Broken, beaten, carved and sculpted into being a precisely tuned and perfectly balanced tool. 

Tools didn’t have souls. And so, tools didn’t, _couldn't_ have soul _mates_. 

So they pulled out the brand, every time they thawed out the asset, before he could begin to move again. And that single word, that simple name, burned away into smoke. 

Every time.

**Bucky?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the idenitfication of the marks is all done, moving forward from here will actually be first meetings! And other such fun relationship stuff. Including the bespoken Bucky/Howard! 
> 
> Stay tuned!
> 
> For updates, more random rambling musings, and an excess of Steve and Bucky angst, find me on Tumblr [here](http://bonjourentrez.tumblr.com/), or on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/bonjourentrez).

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> For updates, more random rambling musings, and an excess of Steve and Bucky angst, find me on Tumblr [here](http://bonjourentrez.tumblr.com/), or on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/bonjourentrez).


End file.
